Whether he will have a long life is doubtful. Probably not; for, at best, his was a temperament in which the sword early wears out the scabbard. By fifty Julius Stedman will be quite an old man; as, indeed, he often looks now. But the value of life consists not in its length; and his is now as full as it used to be empty.

He still lives, nominally, in his brother's house, though he is frequently absent from it, for he hates London, and enjoys, with all his heart, the little cottage at Sevenoaks, which, though silently given up for one summer-Julius never learned why-was taken the next, bought by Dr. Stedman, and presented formally to his wife, to be a perpetual delight unto her and all the family.

There, in the deep peace of country life, Julius spends his days, mostly all the year round, keeping house in the absence of his brother and sister; and painting a good deal, though not at his former large subjects. Like many other people, as he grew older he grew much simpler in his tastes-humbler, too, and doubtful of his own powers; so that he contents himself with sitting at the feet of gentle Mother Nature, and reproducing her in lovely little "bits," which people call pre-Raffaelite-pictures which, unpretending as they are, have such a reality, and often such a deep pathos about them, that they are always admired, and, moreover, sold—a circumstance of no slight importance to the artist, since as long as a fragment of health and life remained in him, Julius would have been far too honest and honorable to subsist upon another man's bounty, even though that man were his own brother.

As it is, he earns quite enough money to maintain himself in the moderate way, which is all he cares for now, for his ambition has long died out, and his extremely precarious health will always prevent his working as hard as those must work who would attain eminence in any thing. He himself will never become a great artist he knows that-but he is bent upon making one of his nephew Will.

There are few things more touching, and at the same time more ennobling, than the intense devotion of a young man to an elder one; and Will is devoted heart and soul to a passionate extent-which his father and mother, though not a bit jealous, are sometimes half frightened at-to his uncle Julius. The two are constantly together, and have been, ever since Dr. Stedman, for both their sakes, and at their earnest entreaty, allowed his son to begin, regularly and decisively, the career of an artist. So Uncle Julius and his nephew are sworn companions, delighting in one another's society, and bound together by a tie as close as that of brothers, and as reverently tender as that be

boy, and his eager anticipations of Will's future, Julius Stedman has a life neither forlorn nor unhappy, for he has learned to place his happiness on something out of himself to help to win for another the fame that can never be his own. When he looks at young Will, and hears him praised on every hand, he feels that his own name will not be quite blotted out, nor his memory forgotten upon earth, even though he should die an old bachelor, wifeless and childless.

He has never again seen Mrs. Vanderdecken. She lives still at Holywell Hall, in great honor and undiminished wealth, flourishing like a green bay-tree, except that-poor woman—she can not fairly be likened to "the wicked." She is not wicked, only weak. Her little daughter loves her dearly, and has unlimited influence over her, so that Gertrude has no difficulty in obtaining leave to visit Aunt Edna whenever she chooses-at whose house, of course, she meets Uncle Julius, in whom she was quick enough at once to recognize her friend Mr. Stone. But Gertrude has tact and delicacy enough not to take notice of this, except confidentially to her Aunt Edna. Nor does Julius Stedman take much notice of her: but Julius the younger does, showing as fatal a predilection for her sweet little plain face, so loving and sensible, kind and true, as his uncle did for her mother's. This new little romance may, alas! cause mischief sometime: for Dr. and Mrs. Stedman dislike the idea of cousins marrying: still, they will never imagine themselves wiser than Providence, but if any serious attachment should occur, will leave their children's choice in their own hands.

Mrs. Vanderdecken herself never comes to visit her sister. That sad cowardliness, that weak shrinking from all things difficult or painful, which had been the bane of her life-nay, of more lives than her own-haunts her still. Yet poor Letty has her good points, growing better as she grows older, through the influence of her child. She is always ready to do a kindness that does not give her very much trouble, and she is not a bad wife to her disagreeable old husband, who leads her any thing but an easy life. There is many a small skeleton hid in the cupboard at Holywell Hall, but outside her home she enjoys a good deal both of pleasantness and popularity, being a very important person in her neighborhood, where every body agrees that Mrs. Vanderdecken is not only the handsomest, but the most charming, of middleaged women.

Every body does not say that of her sister, by any means, for Mrs. Stedman is one of those women who live so entirely within their own family that beyond it they are little known, and not half appreciated. But those who really do know her, love her; and those who know her best love her most of all.

She and her husband are still in the prime of life, or at least only beginning to descend the

I

A STROKE OF BUSINESS.

SEATED myself resolutely in my low rocking-chair, with my head pressed firmly against the back, and began a vigorous thinking.

This was none of your dreamy reveries, born of pleasant surroundings and luxurious indolence; but real, hard thinking, with the practical foundation that something had got to come of it. This "something" was perplexingly vague; but it must assume a tangible form before I could relax the muscles of my mind, now drawn to their utmost tension. I turned the subject around, and viewed it in all its points, past, present, and future; but look which way I would, it presented such a hopeless snarl that, unless some good fairy came to my assistance, there seemed to be no possible way out of it. The facts were these: I had a small school -I should modestly say, a very small school, since the number of pupils had that very day been reduced from five to three; and if it continued to progress backward at this rate I should not long be able to say that I had any school at all.

Six months ago I had thrown all the energies of my nature into this one venture; I had worked, talked, calculated, consulted every body I knew, annihilated distance with my feet in endless tramps about the city in search of rooms, in search of parents, in search of responsible names for my circulars; and encountered in this circuit more disagreeable people, more faithless people, and more utterly stupid and absurd people than I had supposed it possible for the world to contain.

would certainly succeed, with such an amount of energy and perseverance.

I sighed now as I remembered how much this encouraged me at the time; for, alas! he had not proved a true prophet.

My school-room was not altogether what I desired, but it was the best that I could do. Such rooms as I wanted were not to be had; and half a dozen eligible ones had been almost closed and double-barred in my face as soon as I mentioned the word "school." I began with five scholars, and devoted myself to the improvement of their minds in what I considered a highly original and thorough manner; for did not my circulars say that "Miss Berenice Mapleton's select school for beginners would be conducted upon principles especially favorable for acquiring the rudiments of a thorough English education; and French would be taught orally, and reduced to the comprehension of the youngest child?"

Every one admired the phraseology; and I must say that I expected more from those circulars, and all the visits that I had paid to parents of promising families, than the five frightened-looking little girls who made their appearance in my school-room on that sunny September morning. However, I put a cheerful face on the matter, and taught them as carefully as though there had been thirty instead of five.

Friends assured me that this was quite an encouraging beginning; and some one cited the experience of a lady who opened with one scholar and finished with a school of eighty! At this rate my proper maximum would be four hundred; and I went on hopefully from day to day

school, would have seen me snug at home, and sometimes finding no scholars to teach when I got there.

On such occasions I solaced myself with composition, and was sometimes rewarded by the sight of a business-like letter containing a check; and sometimes my poor little rolls were returned to me "declined with thanks." One of these bundles now greeted my eyes on the mantle as I sat thinking.

I shall never forget his expression of astonishment when I opened my battery upon him, nor the dentist's of disappointment when he found that I did not want him. I think the latter had rather calculated on taking out all my teeth and putting in a new set.

When the Doctor of Divinity had fairly gotten himself free, and his mouth was restored to its natural size and shape, he proved to be a very pleasant-looking gentleman; and regarded me so kindly, while I stammered out my errand with an apology for my ill-timed attack, that I was very much relieved. I got the name in full, and also the smiling assurance that I

By degrees I learned that my room was not in the right situation. A railroad had to be crossed from one direction that was a stumbling-block to several anxious parents who would have sent had it not been for that; I was too far off from others who professed a great regard for me, and urged me to move into their neighborhood; and others held back because the school was so small!

When I sent in my bills the father of two of the children, whom I had looked upon as quite a friend of mine, and who had advised me strongly to get up the school, promising the full benefit of his countenance and support, took no notice of the neat slip of paper that I pinned in the pinafore of the oldest girl. Edith assured me that she had given it to her father; but weeks passed on, and the end of the quarter came. My last $10 bill had been broken, and

Finally I came to the conclusion that I had done enough for one night, and went to bed upon it. In the morning, which was fortunately Saturday, I put on my bonnet with an air of great resolution, and bore straight down upon Mr. Portman.

Had I been a boy I should have encouraged myself by whistling all the way there; but as it was I could only keep up an incessant thinking, and wonder what my old friend would say when he saw me in his office-and, still more, what he would say when I told him my errand. This, however, was to be approached by gradual steps; and I tried to feel composed as I called to mind all the kindnesses I had received in the shape of handsome Christmas presents, and various attentions that rich old bachelors are apt to bestow on their friends' children.

For Mr. Portman had been my father's friend, and I had seen his face ever since I could remember. He had kindly said that he regretted not having twenty children to send to my school, and he had done all that he could toward establishing it. But would he now feel disposed to lend me three or four thousand dollars?

I peeped in timidly, but, to my great delight, he was entirely alone.

"My dear Miss Berenice!" he exclaimed, warmly, taking me by both hands; "this is indeed a pleasure! Sit right down here, and tell me what is the matter-for I know that you never would have bearded the old fellow in his den for nothing."

"There is a great deal the matter," said I, desperately, as I began to feel my nicely-prepared speech slipping entirely away from me. "I am sorry to hear it," he replied, looking grave immediately, and evidently expecting some overwhelming communication.

I tried to begin as I had intended, but it would not come, and, exhausted with nervous excitement, I burst into tears. Then every thing came out in a perfect stream, without being "sorted" at all; and there was the strangest mixture of my hopes and fears and projects, and my intention of buying a house in the same breath that I acknowledged myself unable to pay for one room, until my hearer looked quite stunned, and evidently began to wonder if I had lost my senses.

Then he looked amused, and presently he said: "My dear girl, there is no need of crying; let us examine this matter rationally. You wish, you say, to buy a small house, that you may have a more desirable room for your school, and lessen the expense of rent; that strikes me as a particularly sensible idea. As VOL. XXXVIII.-No. 223.-5

"I have just one thousand dollars in the world," I replied, shortly.

"One thousand dollars!" repeated Mr. Portman, in amazement. "You can not really mean it! The daughter of my old friend Edward Mapleton reduced to this! Why did you not let me know it before?"

"I would not have told you now," said I, proudly, “had you not asked me.”

The old gentleman walked about the office, shaking his head in a very disapproving way. "Poor child!" said he, "poor child!"

"I am not so very much to be pitied," said I, determined to assert myself to the last; "I have youth and health, and although I do labor under the disadvantage of being a woman, I intend to accomplish something yet. I will never be dependent on any one except for kindness; but if you are willing, Mr. Portman, to lend me whatever is required above my thousand-"

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"Willing!' he exclaimed, warmly; "I would be willing,' Berenice, to do far more; but if this is the only assistance you will accept, let us go at once and look at the house."

My heart was considerably lightened as we set forth, and directing our steps to No. 40 Plum Street, we found Messrs. Broad and Long in the shape of one hard-looking gentleman, who was neither broad nor long, except by name.

He eyed us critically, and then said, in an indifferent way: "Yes-neat little housepresent owner going West. No. 99 Lumbago Street-take a look at it?"

Mr. Portman nodded assent, and a short walk brought us to a very clean little street, about the centre of which stood "my house"its dimensions reminding me of a very delicate slice of cake. It was just the place for a school, as I saw at the first glance; and Mr. Portman evidently thought so too, although he was very quiet about it. A long saloon-parlor--the very thing for a school-room-a cunning little dining-room back, and nicely-finished chambers above, with a third story above them.

Mr. Portman examined every part of the house very critically, and when the agent left us for a moment he told me that it was very well built, and that the price, $4000, was extremely moderate.

"You could probably get $5000 for it, after a little time, if you wished to sell," said he.

This was a new view of the case; and it set me thinking more desperately than ever. Make a clear $1000, after paying Mr. Portman what I owed him, and thus double my money! It was quite exciting; and I felt disposed to go at once into the real estate business.

The end of it all was that the house became mine, at least nominally, for I always felt that it really belonged to Mr. Portman; and when the deed was executed and placed in my hands I al